A Simple Amish Christmas Read online

  A Simple Amish Christmas

  Copyright © 2010 by Vannetta Chapman

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4267-1066-7

  Published by Abingdon Press, P.O. Box 801, Nashville, TN 37202

  www.abingdonpress.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, posted on any website, or transmitted in any form or by any means—digital, electronic, scanning, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations in printed reviews and articles.

  The persons and events portrayed in this work of fiction are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Published in association with the Seymour Literary Agency.

  Cover design by Anderson Design Group, Nashville, TN

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Chapman, Vannetta.

  A simple Amish Christmas / Vannetta Chapman.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-1-4267-1066-7 (pbk. : alk. paper)

  1. Amish—Fiction. 2. Christmas stories. I. Title.

  PS3603.H3744S56 2010

  813’.6—dc22

  2010027885

  Printed in the United States of America

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 / 15 14 13 12 11 10

  To Bob, the love of my life

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Note to the Reader

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Glossary

  Discussion Questions

  An Interview with Author

  Want to learn more

  Back Matter

  Acknowledgments

  I’m grateful to Mary Sue Seymour for encouraging me to write Amish fiction and finding a home for this story. I’d also like to thank Barbara Scott for acquiring it.

  Donna and Kristy, you two are the most faithful first readers an author could wish for. I hope those dinners at the Cheesecake Factory are adequate compensation for your hard work.

  Cathy, I wouldn’t have made it through the edits without your help on the technology end. The Lunch Bunch at LISD helped me laugh through my day job, and the bell choir at FUMC picked up my spirit at practice every Wednesday night.

  Amy, you were a wonderful source of help and encouragement. Thank you, dear.

  Bob, for an engineer, I realize this entire writing thing is a stretch; I appreciate how hard you try.

  Cody, thank you for making it possible for me to write while raising a son. I know not every mom can do both, because not every mom has a son like you.

  Jordyn, Yale, and Kylie—I’m proud of each of you, and I am glad you’re in my life.

  Mom, you are my biggest fan. Thank you for always encouraging me in my dreams.

  Baby Kiptyn, we continue to pray for you.

  Finally, this book wouldn’t be possible without the Lord’s guidance. “I can do all things through Christ.” Without him, I’m just another crazy lady with a laptop.

  Note to the Reader

  The setting for this novel is Mifflin County, Pennsylvania; however, the Amish community within the pages of this book is fictional. Amish rules and traditions described here have been researched faithfully. Please note, though, that there are differences among Amish communities; therefore, actions and dialogue may differ from the Amish culture you know.

  A glossary is provided at the back of the book for your use.

  Prologue

  Mifflin County, Pennsylvania

  September, 2006

  Annie Weaver sat in the back seat of her aenti’s car, determined to hold in her tears. She was a woman after all— sixteen this past January. Within four months she would turn seventeen.

  Which was why her dat and mamm had finally decided to send her with her aunt.

  Nearly seventeen and she’d refused every boy who had wanted to court her.

  Nearly seventeen and she had managed to lose three jobs. Nearly seventeen and she was still sneaking into the barn and reading books by lamplight.

  Watching the fields of her dat’s farm slip away, she put her hand to her stomach and attempted to calm the butterflies swirling there. They had met as a family and all agreed this was for the best.

  A little time with the Englisch.

  A few months with her cousins.

  A chance to clear her head and indulge her rumschpringe.

  But what if this wasn’t merely a time of rebellion?

  What if she was actually different from her family and friends?

  Annie brushed away the tear that slipped down her cheek, watched the last of Mifflin County fly past her window, and prayed God would settle her restless spirit and bring her safely home.

  1

  Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

  December 1, 2009, 6:55 a.m.

  Annie Weaver threw her coat and scarf into her locker, slammed it shut, and twirled the lock—once, twice, three times as Jenny had shown her.

  Turning to go, she nearly ran over her best friend.

  “Tell me you are not headed out on the floor.” Jenny’s voice sounded like Annie’s first-year teacher—stern and low and slightly disappointed. Sporting short blonde hair and a figure even slimmer than Annie’s, Jenny looked nothing like an Amish schoolteacher.

  “I’m not?”

  “You are, aren’t you?”

  Blue eyes laughed at her, even as Annie tossed a panicked look at the clock—six fifty-seven a.m.

  “Ya. Why?”

  “Cap.”

  Annie’s hand flew to the top of her head and met only a mass of curls. Searching, she found her nursing cap slid to the back and side of her head.

  “Scope.”

  Looking down, she realized she’d left it—

  “I.D.”

  Left them both in her locker.

  As she turned and fumbled with the combination on her locker, Jenny re-pinned Annie’s nursing cap firmly in place on the top of her long, chestnut hair.

  “I’m running late,” Annie explained.

  “Sleep in?”

  Annie shook her head. “I was up early enough, but I made the mistake of turning on the radio. The music reminded me that it’s December.”

  “They’re already playing Christmas songs,” Jenny fussed. “I still have leftover turkey in the fridge.”

  “When I heard the music I realized I hadn’t written home this week. I thought I had enough time, but then a letter to my parents was followed by another to my schweschder.” Annie’s voice trailed off. How could she explain that the Christmas decorations popping up everywhere were making her homesick?

  Garlands hung from the halls of her boarding house. Colorful displays crowded the store windows lining her walk to work. Lights blinked above the streets, and Santas rang bells at nearly every door.

  She longed for the simple celebrations of home.

  Home.

  Annie grabbed her I.D. and stethoscope, allowing her fingers to brush over the engraving, marveling that it bore her init
ials.

  She had actually earned her R.N. degree. One year she had studied and earned her high school equivalency, then for two years she had been enrolled in and graduated from the local nursing program.

  Three years of living with her aenti.

  Three years working among the Englisch.

  Three years away from her family.

  She spun around to face Jenny. “I shouldn’t have spent so long writing my mamm and dat this morning, but ya—I was a little homesick because of the holidays.”

  “Your mother and dad will appreciate the letter. Why don’t you stop by my place after your shift ends? I’ll make baked ziti, a giant salad, and fresh rolls—your favorite meal.”

  Annie blinked through the tears that suddenly sprang to her eyes, accepted the hug Jenny offered, and hurried out to the floor, glancing again at the clock as she passed underneath it.

  Only one minute late.

  “Good morning, Annie.” Jeffrey’s voice was as sweet as shoofly pie, too sweet.

  She’d been dodging his flirtations for weeks. Though he was a nice enough co-worker, his attention left her confused.

  As did the smile he shot her way.

  “Gudemariye,” she mumbled, pretending to check her pocket for pen and stethoscope.

  “Careful—you know I love it when you talk plain to me.” Tall and redheaded, Jeffrey winked, then walked over to the copier machine.

  “Don’t tease her, Jeffrey.” Shelly issued her command in a don’t-mess-with-me voice. “Annie just arrived, and you know it takes her a few minutes to readjust to our ways.”

  Peering over her reading glasses, Shelly waited for Jeffrey to return his attention to his work, which he did. She was their shift supervisor, and she was the perfect mother hen. Dark ebony skin, tall and somewhat on the heavy side—no one doubted she could handle whatever presented on their floor.

  She waved Annie toward the little boy in room 307. “Go on, honey. Kiptyn has been asking for you since his five a.m. check.”

  “Danki,” Annie replied, glancing up at the status board. “I mean, thank you. I had hoped to check on him first. He rested well last night?”

  “As well as can be expected.” Shelly’s face took on the protective look Annie had come to love so well over the past six months. “Remember, Annie, care for your patients, but don’t let them break your heart.”

  “Ya. I know. You have warned me before.” Annie smiled, felt in her pocket for the item that had arrived in the mail yesterday.

  Christmas music played softly over the hospital sound system as she hurried down the hall toward Kiptyn’s room.

  She entered quietly.

  The boy didn’t seem to hear her over the buzzing and beeping of medical apparatus. An oxygen machine hummed beside his bed. A heart monitor beeped with the rhythm of his heart.

  And cartoon characters fought to save the world on the television set.

  Kiptyn didn’t seem to notice any of it.

  The eight-year-old boy sat staring at the wall. Annie could see, even from across the room, what an effort it was for him to breathe. She pulled in a deep breath, as if it would fill his lungs as well as her own, and cleared her throat, alerting him to her presence.

  “Good morning, Mr. Kiptyn. It seems you are my first patient today. You must be very important indeed.”

  “Annie.” The little boy’s voice reminded her of a song, one that could tear at your heart while still making you smile. His blue eyes brightened as he struggled to sit up straighter in his bed.

  But even from the doorway she could tell that the sixteen hours since she’d last seen him had taken their toll. The circles around his eyes were a bit darker, his skin even paler, and— though it didn’t seem possible—she wondered if he might have dropped below the forty-four pounds she’d recorded yesterday.

  “Let me help you, kind.”

  Moving efficiently to his side, she gently repositioned the pillows behind him with one hand and used the controls to adjust his bed with the other.

  “What does kind mean? Is it an Amish word?”

  “Ya. It means child. Sometimes I slip back into the plain language.”

  “I like when you speak Amish.” Kiptyn rubbed his nose, knocking his oxygen plugs askew.

  Annie reached forward and adjusted them, taking a moment to let her hand rest on the top of his shiny bald head.

  She’d seen the pictures his mamm had brought, so she knew the boy had once had curly blond hair. Kiptyn’s parents took turns staying with the child each night, then hurried off to their respective jobs early each day.

  “Actually what my people speak is Dietsch.”

  Kiptyn laughed even as he fought for a full breath. “Don’t you mean Dutch?”

  “It’s a type of Dutch,” Annie agreed, slipping the blood pressure cuff over his small arm. “Actually Dietsch means Pennsylvania Dutch.”

  “‘Will you teach me more Dietsch today?” Kiptyn asked.

  “Do you remember what I taught you yesterday?” Annie took his pressure manually and noted the numbers on her chart.

  The monitor could have done it electronically, but she’d noticed that he had begun bruising where the machine tightened the cuff around his arm. After speaking with Shelly, she’d received permission to take his pressure manually during the day.

  Annie also felt a person’s touch was more personal than a machine—anything to make his stay easier. It was her responsibility to care for these precious children.

  “Gudemariye.” Kiptyn said the word as if he were practicing for a presentation in front of a classroom.

  “And good morning to you,” Annie responded. She placed her stethoscope in her pocket, then tapped her chin, as if she were having trouble remembering any other words in her native tongue.

  “I heard my parents talking last night. They thought I was asleep.” Kiptyn’s voice grew softer.

  His hand crept out, and he traced the pattern of dark blue material on her sleeve, letting his fingers run down to her hand until it rested there on top of hers. “They’re thinking about having another baby. Something about how a brother could help save me. How’s that possible?”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t be eavesdropping, boppli.” Annie corrected him gently. She moved to check his IV drip.

  “I’m not a baby, Annie.” Kiptyn smiled up at her again. “You taught me that word on Monday. What I’d really like is to have a brother—someone I could play ball with when I’m well. Do you have a word for brother?”

  Kiptyn’s question caused a pressure to form around Annie’s heart, and she felt as if tears were being wrung from it—tears she couldn’t show this precious kind.

  She sat gently on the side of the bed, taking the boy’s hand in her own. Earlier in the week, the doctors had told Kiptyn’s parents the chemotherapy wasn’t effectively battling his cancer. They wanted to move on to a new experimental drug treatment, felt it was his only hope of survival.

  “Ya, we have a word for brother. I have a brother, did you know that?”

  “How old is he?”

  “Twenty-two. He is a grown man.” Annie hadn’t been able to visit her family in the fall, and now for the second time since waking she was nearly overcome with homesickness. Adam would be married next year. She looked out the hospital window at the snow that had begun falling and thought of Leah, the pretty, slim girl who would soon be her schweschder.

  “So how do you say it, Annie?” Coughing wracked his thin frame, and she reached forward to rub his chest. “How do you say brother?”

  “Bruder.”

  “Well, that’s easy.” Kiptyn laughed again and pulled in a deep breath. “Bruder. Sounds like our word.”

  “Ya, it does.” Annie stood and started out of the room, had nearly reached the door when her hand brushed up against what was in her pocket. She turned back around.

  “Kiptyn, remember when I asked you if it was all right to tell my onkel about you?”

  “Your Onkel Eli, who builds t
hings. Yeah, I remember.”

  “Well I wrote him, and he sent you something.” She reached in her pocket, pulled out the wooden horse. It was handcrafted of maple wood and fit in her palm. The detail was exquisite. Walking back to Kiptyn’s bed, she placed it on his tummy.

  The boy reached out, picked it up, and studied it.

  “Cool beans!” A smile covered Kiptyn’s face, and for a moment he merely looked like a little boy instead of a cancer patient. “Could I write him and say thanks?”

  “He’d like that, I’ll—”

  The door to Kiptyn’s room burst open, and Shelly stepped through.

  “Annie, could I speak with you in the hall, please?” It wasn’t a question at all. The look on Shelly’s face was somber, more so than Annie had ever seen before.

  “Of course, I was finishing up here. Kiptyn, I’ll check on you again a little later. Press your button if you need anything.”

  She followed Shelly into the hall, confusion and worry sending beads of sweat down the back of her neck. She suddenly wished she’d pulled her long, brown hair back into a clip, anything to help with the wave of heat washing over her.

  Shelly turned as soon as Kiptyn’s door closed, then reached out and placed a hand gently on Annie’s shoulder.

  “Annie, you have a phone call at the desk.” Concern mingled with sympathy. “Sweetie, it’s Vickie.”

  “Mrs. Brown? My landlady? I don’t understand.”

  “She’s calling about your father, Annie. There’s been an accident.”

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